Happily Ever After
by ChickInStarkTower
Summary: Mary Jane Watson has never asked for much. But she did want her happy ending. Just like in the fairy tales… MJHarry Chapters One and Two revised
1. Chapter 1

_Happily Ever After_

By Galinda05

Summary:

Mary Jane Watson has never asked for much. But she did want her happy ending. Just like in the fairy tales…

Disclaimer: I don't own Spider-man. Or Harry Osborn. Darn…

Authoress Note: First things first: I was dared to do a prologue under a hundred words. The chapters will be MUCH longer, I swear.

Also, this story dedicated to my friend, Danny Phantom SG-1 who hates Mary Jane. Go review her stories!

Enjoy!

MJMJMJMJMJMJMJMJMJMJ

Prologue:

Hello, my name is Mary Jane Watson, and I'm here to tell you what could have happened.

I could have had my happily ever after. My fairy tale ending. My Prince Charming.

But no, Harry Osborn had to go and get himself killed, and leave me here alone. No, worse than alone. He left me with Spider-man.


	2. Chapter 2: Elevator Muzak

-1Authoress Note: A longer chapter, as I promised. Merci to any who read and merci beacoup to those who reviewed or will review. Yes, this does contain spoilers for SM3.

Also, Danny Phantom SG-1, I didn't mean to make you cry!

MJMJMJMJMJMJMJMJMJMJ

_Chapter I_

"Hello, Harry? It's Mary Jane. Would you…like some company?" It all started with those ten little words. Three proper nouns, two common nouns, a question word, a greeting, a contraction, a verb and an adjective. Now that I think about it, it must have started long before I said those words. It must have started when I stormed out of the Constellation Restaurant, knowing full well that Peter was concealing Aunt May's engagement ring somewhere, waiting for his moment to propose. Or maybe at the ceremony where Spider-man (_cough_, Peter, _cough) _was given the fabled key to the city and kissed Gwen Stacy. Who knows, it could have started at the World Unity Fair, but for the sake of my own emotions, I'm saying that it all started when I said: "Hello, Harry? It's Mary Jane. Would you…like some company?" If you don't like it, then, please, be my guest, rehash everything that's happened in the period of time where I felt my heart rate increase every time Harry Osborn entered the room that I was in, but, for the life of me, couldn't figure out why. The period of time during which I thought that Peter Parker caused all of that.

"You and Peter?"

"No," I said, rolling my eyes, even though he of course couldn't see me through my cell phone, "Just me."

"You kidding?" I gave him no answer, he then replied enthusiastically, "Sure. C'mon over."

"Are you sure I won't be intruding?"

He laughed. "No, you're not intruding! I'm just hanging out, doing nothing. Come on over!s"

"Okay then, see ya."

I snapped my cell phone shut, sighing without a cause, and headed over to the OsCorp building, the top two floors of which are occupied by Harry's penthouse. The security guards know me, even if it's only as "Mr. Osborn's red-haired friend" or "That Watson girl". On top of that, it was really creepy to hear Harry referred to as 'Mr. Osborn'. The name of his psycho pathetic father just didn't suit him.

The elevator muzak (it's not even really called music, I swear) played in Bose-quality, only succeeding in making it more annoying. It sounded something like a synthesized version of an old Beatles' song. Or something by David Bowie . "Changes", maybe? "I Wanna Hold Your Hand"? The stuff was so bad that I couldn't tell.

Fifteenth floor, sixteenth floor, seventeenth, eighteenth…

I don't really like elevators much, even the gold leafed and red carpeted one at OsCorp. I always hated thinking of something funny in that awkward silence, and then laughing at it, causing the other passengers to look at me as if I were a nutcase. But, anyway, the only other passenger at that time was a business man in a blue suit who kept staring at my rear. _Take a picture buddy, _I wanted to say, _It'll last longer._ But, hey, no one had looked at me with the smallest iota of interest in a pretty long time, or so I thought.

I had pushed the button for the penthouse, and the fifty-sixth floor also was lit, so, using a bit of the deductive reasoning that my great, great-grandfather had picked up from Sherlock Holmes, I decided that creepy suit-man must be headed for there.

It was going to be one long ride.

Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two, forty-three, forty-four, forty-five…when was this going to be over? Creepy suit-man kept right on staring.

"Nice weather we're having." I said abruptly, and without reason. Creepy suit-man shifted his gaze from it's first resting place to my face (finally).

Fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six, _ding_!

The doors open and creepy suit-man stepped our without a word, leaving me alone.

The rest of the ride afforded me some much needed time to think, but I just ended up realizing how indelibly crazy what I was doing was.

But, it's not like Peter was around for a chat.

Ever.

And Harry seemed so glad that I was headed over. _And_ I have to admit, beneath all of my doubts, I was glad, too. When I had gotten the call from Peter, from the hospital, to tell me that Harry had been involved in a hit and run, that he hadn't been breathing, nor had he had a pulse…fear had seized me by the shoulders. It's a strange feeling, getting a message like that. It's not unlike the initial drop of the _Tower of Terror_ at Disney World, if you catch my drift. But, I have to assume that not many people have received a telephone message causing them to believe that the person who understands them best in the world is going to die while riding the _Tower of Terror_, so, it's probably not a very comparable situation.

_Ding!_

"MJ!" I hadn't even stepped all the way off of the elevator before we embraced.

I kissed him on the cheek. "Looking good, tiger." I also bit my tongue after I spoke. 'Tiger' was usually reserved for Peter.

But, there was no Peter around.

There seemed to be no Peter at all anymore.

Just Spider-man.

Always just Spider-man.

The elevator doors began to close, and Harry pulled me into the penthouse. Bernard, his life-long butler, stood nearby with a silver tea service. "Miss Watson."

He said with a nod.

I resisted the urge to curtsey. "Bernard."

"Lovely to see you again."

"Likewise."

He pattered off, as old English butlers do. I turned to Harry. "How are you feeling?"

"Great, much better. It's just," he sighed, "Weird." An understanding of what he meant passed around through the room and between us.

An easel was set up across the room, it's canvas facing away from us. I spoke, "Harry, I didn't know you paint."

He gave me _that_ smile. "Yes, kind of, uh, not very well."

"I don't believe _that_. Mind if I-"

Harry gently caught my arm. "No, no, no, um, it's not done yet." He guided me over to a spot just up from the easel , and a little to the right. "Just…stand there for a second."

He picked up his palette and stared at the side of the canvas that was hidden from my view.

"Harry," I laughed a little bit, "What are you-"

"Look at me for a sec, MJ."

In what could have possibly been the longest thirty seconds of my life, I obliged, and Harry just stared at me. Not like that's never happened before, but something was different. Something was wonderfully off.

He made a few brush strokes, analyzed them, whatever they were, and made a few more. Finally, after a moment, Harry sat his palette down and motioned me to come look with a simple, "Volia". I moved to him, and peered over his shoulder.

It looked so lifelike.

"I wanted to get your eyes just right."


	3. Interlude I

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Authoress Note: Major thank you for all the reviews! You guys are amazing!

Also, major mercies to my two betas, Andrew and Becca (hiei1317) (who are responsible for the changes in chapter one, and Becca did it without me even asking!), Kim, who read through this in French, and to Olivia (Danny Phantom SG-1) who convinced me to even post this chapter!

MJMJMJMJMJ

_Interlude I_

Before I go on any further, I must digress. I must digress because I left something out, something that I just now realized was important.

I know why Peter's telephone message scared me so badly; not only was I scared that Harry was dying (actually, according to Peter and the doctors, he actually was dead for a few minutes…), my first instinctive that was '_Why wasn't it Peter instead?'_

I know how that sounds, but, I rationalized it away, or tried to, at least: "Peter has super-human strength,' or 'He could have webbed the car's wheels before it hit him,' or 'Being Spider-man makes Peter heal really quickly, it would take a lot more than a hit and run to kill him'. Then, I didn't know the real reason behind what I was thinking.

Peter left me that message at exactly four twenty-six in the morning. I was home a conked out by two.

Why is that important, right? Who cares what time I fell asleep. Ah, _no._ I had what I thought was a nightmare that night. I dreamt that it was raining, and cold, we were all at a graveyard, the graveyard where Uncle Ben and Norman Osborn are buried. I was staring at Peter from across a gleaming black casket strewn with white roses. Tears flooded our eyes.

I stepped away from the safety of the emerald green canopy that sheltered us, to lay another rose down, never averting my gaze from Peter's eyes. I kissed my fingertips, pressing them to the mirrored onyx surface.

The name on the tombstone was Harry's.

And now, having lived that very same tragic scene in my waking hours, I know that my nightmare was a premonition, my premonition a nightmare.

"Nightmares can't kill people, MJ." Harry said to me after I told him what I dreamed the night of his accident.

(Oh, Harry, of what then did you die?)

_It was a nightmare._

_It was a nightmare._

_It was all just a nightmare._

_It was a-_

Maybe if I tell myself that enough time, repeating it like a mantra, over and over, I can make it true.


End file.
